Gratitude

I have slaughtered many. Deathly, quick, and silent. I’ll kill anyone for the right price, always with professional efficiency. That would be why they called me the guillotine. Unlike the others, I don’t let emotions get in the way. A murder’s a murder, and it’s better not to take anything to remember them by. Doing so robs you of professionalism. That is a tarnish that my reputation will not stand. That’s what I thought, at least. But there are exceptions to every rule, and he was one.

It was a messy job, massacring an entire family like that. Men, women, children, no one was to be spared. I didn’t care why; I just did as I was told. The pay was good, and it’s always better not to ask questions. I burst through the front door.

Well, to be specific, I burst the front door down. These new-fangled explosives are quite useful for that purpose. Good for a distraction, and better for taking out mass numbers. My entrance alone killed at least five people. Almost half the work done with no effort on my part. I continue into the compound.

It’s a pagoda-style building, standing in defiance of the western architecture of the surrounding rest of the country’s assimilation. I found myself marveling at the traditionalism of it all, and was nearly ambushed because of it. Two men, not so differently dressed from myself came seemingly from nowhere. Black garbs blended in with the smoke, facemasks aided in the anonymity I needed. One sweeping blow from my blade took care of the first, wounding the second. Tiresome as it was, I had to raise the blade once more to finish the second man. I did as such with a grimace.

Deep down, I think I actually enjoyed the killing. But my weapon took some of that bliss from me. Equal length to the height of an average man, wide as one when viewed from his side. The horse-killer is heavy, but its overkill tendency is why I like it. That, and the wonderful remains it leaves behind. My weapon turns murder into an art form, and for that, I am glad.

I move on, surely the people would be well-aware of my presence by now. Subtlety isn’t quite my forte. Another man charges toward me. He seems the patriarch of the group. His clothes are the nicest I’ve seen. Allow me to make them prettier…

Split down the middle, his clothes became bloody rags. A bit disappointing I couldn’t keep them. With a whorl, I moved on, continuing my assault.

Eventually, I come across a woman, huddled with children. Without batting an eye, she is decapitated. One child cries out, the other cowers away. This would be most fun. My blade’s width is roughly equal to the first child’s torso; she splits like a log under stress. An explosion of crimson mist coats the remaining child. Without another wasted motion, I split the second width-wise. The asymmetry is breath-taking.

Four, five, six others all challenge me for their respective pride. Anything to stop my assault, all of them fail. Fatigue began to set-in. My weapon wasn’t designed for long-term battles. Three more fall, and I begin to feel it even worse. A fourth proves to be a hassle, and I consider falling back.

No, these people are prominent and wealthy, I’m sure. A successful attempt on their life would be rewarded, a failed one, punished. I deliver a shoulder-tackle to the young man. He is knocked off-balance, and I seize his blade. A second later, and it is returned to him- through his own heart.

During the whole of this massacre, I felt like I was not alone. Someone was watching me closely… A feeling of unease swept over me, and I felt the urge to turn around.

No one there, but the feeling persists. A tug at the hem of my garments… I look down to meet the eyes of a small child. One with the features of those I just murdered. I raise my blade, and he holds up a hand to stop me.

For whatever reason, I comply. He is speaking words, too faint for me to hear. I lower my head to listen, and he repeats words that even I found chilling.

Both of us soaked in the blood of his family, he whispered a single, chilling phrase: “Thank-you.”

Author's Note

This is one of the few times I posted something straight from my mind. Excuse me if its a little rough.

Reviews

[Havatara]

I did not think it was all that rough, and I agree with RainyDay. Talk more about the feeling of being watched and his intrigue by it or something like that. Also, if you added a bit more before "Thank you" (not after because that would have taken away from the story) like "a chilling phrase that made my blood run cold" or something like that, I would have liked it better.

[RainyDay]

Not at all, the writing is beautifully contemporary - intriguing and stylish. But just one thing....if you said through-out about feeling watched, it would REALLY improve the story, I think. We would feel alot more suspense, plus it would be more showing and less telling, if you get me.... Good work though! : )

[Zatoichi]

very compelling write. i hope there's another chapter coming because i'm bursting with questions.

[Radical Dreamer]

Great action piece. I felt the intensity of the scene and was enamoured with the chaos that insued. I love assassin characters and many of my longer pieces have assassins so I read this eagerly. My favorite line is ," Burst through the front door. Well, to be specific, I burst the front door down," it made me laugh because it showed a bit of the assassins humor. My only complaint is that I wanted to know more about the assassin than just his love for blood. I wanted to get more into his head and you might consider revealing a bit more of his inner turmoil (if he has any) or his past. Also if you could go into depth about how he moves or his mannerism, it would give the reader more of an image of how this assassin looks. As you said above this was done on a quick whim, cant wait to read more.